


Five Times Mycroft Offered Sherlock a Cigarette

by lary



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Acceptance, Coming Out, Consensual, Friendship, M/M, No Underage Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sibling Incest, Slash, Smoking, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 20:18:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4849118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lary/pseuds/lary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...no, wait, six times. Plus one time he didn't, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Mycroft Offered Sherlock a Cigarette

 

 

 

“I want it, too.”

 

“You're too young.” Mycroft brings another cigarette to his lips. His hands shake as he lights it.

 

Sherlock huffs a laugh, bitter. “You used to be the one person who never told me that.”

 

“This is different.”

 

“You're avoiding me. You don't even hug me anymore, not since--”

 

“Sherlock,” Mycroft cuts him off, warningly.

 

Sherlock falls quiet. He leans against the wall next to his brother, watches from the corner of his eye as he throws away the rest of his cigarette and then lights yet another one. The silence is tense between them until Sherlock breaks it.

 

“That's all there is to it then,” he says dryly. “My age.”

 

Mycroft sighs, weary. “Hardly.”

 

Sherlock turns his head to look at him. Mycroft's eyes are closed as he takes another drag. He looks pained. Withdrawn. Guilty. “You clearly don't care that I'm your brother. Were I older, you'd be all over me right now.”

 

Mycroft looks down at him. “In a heartbeat.”

 

Sherlock tries to breathe, reads so many filthy promises in his brother's dark eyes. “So you want to adhere to the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“But not the Incest Act 1908.”

 

“No.”

 

“Three years. An arbitrary distinction.”

 

“Not arbitrary. This is different.”

 

“Prove it.”

 

Mycroft laughs, surprise and relief, then extends a peace offering. “Would you like a cigarette?”

 

 

**

 

 

Sherlock leans against the door and watches Mycroft exit the black government car and walk gracefully up the stairs. Apparently in need of more time, since he lights a cigarette for himself. Sherlock declines; he's waited long enough. “I don't even get a hello? You must have known to expect me.”

 

“Indeed.” Mycroft stares at the traffic, while Sherlock stares at him just as intently.

 

“You don't even like to smoke,” Sherlock says.

 

“Not particularly.” His brother still finishes the cigarette before opening the front door for them. He barely looks at Sherlock as he hangs his coat and takes off his shoes, lining them up neatly. Sherlock rolls his eyes, but he's still smiling, has barely stopped all day. He kicks off his own shoes and lets his coat and scarf drop into a messy pile on top of them.

 

“You didn't have a hand in the amendment, did you?”

 

That gets him a look. “No.”

 

Sherlock stalks towards his brother, who doesn't bother with evasion, lets Sherlock crowd him to the wall. “Sexual Offences Act, lowering the age of consent to sixteen,” he murmurs, lips softly brushing Mycroft's ear. “A shame it wasn't passed sooner. Still, it would have been five more months until my eighteenth birthday. Long months.”

 

Mycroft's arms come around him, hold him closer than they've been in nearly two years. It feels so right. “Very long,” he admits against Sherlock's cheek.

 

“I was right. Arbitrary.”

 

“Not completely.”

 

“Just admit it.”

 

Mycroft's teeth nip lightly at his throat, his voice comes out gravelly. “Do you truly wish to continue this argument right now?”

 

Sherlock capitulates as Mycroft's lips press softly against his. He runs his tongue against them, moans as they part to welcome him. There will be time for that later. Much, much later.

 

 

**

 

 

“Such a filthy habit,” Mycroft says even as he holds the lighter up. His eyes darken with the first inhale and the pleasure on Sherlock's face.

 

“Those are rather your area.” Well established fact, by this point.

 

“Not only mine, brother dear.”

 

Sherlock smirks. “Obviously.”

 

 

**

 

 

“Hmm... good.” The smoke fills his lungs on the inhale, twists and spirals in the darkness on the exhale. “Inspiring bad habits in your little brother. What would Mummy say?”

 

“I have long since stopped asking myself that question.”

 

“Wise of you.”

 

“I rather doubt it would be the smoking she would most oppose.”

 

“Hmm,” Sherlock agrees. “Terribly unhealthy thing though, smoking. I'm surprised you encourage it.”

 

“Indulgence.”

 

“One of your many.”

 

“On the contrary, brother mine. One of my very few.”

 

“Perhaps. You did always like watching me smoke.”

 

“Ah, yes.” Mycroft's eyes darken as Sherlock stumps out the cigarette. “You always taste so good.”

 

“Indulgence.” Sherlock's smile is inviting. Mycroft matches it.

 

“Quite.”

 

 

**

 

 

“Full tar, this time,” Sherlock comments as he watches John's defeated form make its way from his grave.

 

“I rather thought the situation called for it. Besides, it hardly matters now that you're dead.”

 

The smoke joins the ache in his chest, a familiar comfort. “There is that.”

 

 

**

 

 

“I'm not going to break,” Sherlock says, opening his legs wider. It's been too long. “Come on, harder.”

 

Mycroft's eyes flash as he presses Sherlock's wrists to the mattress, and the next thrusts make Sherlock moan shamelessly. “Such a dirty boy. Look at you. So hard for me. Are you close?”

 

“Oh yes.”

 

“Close enough to come on my cock?”

 

Sherlock swears. “If you'd just give it to me.”

 

Mycroft growls, drives into him fast and hard, just the way they both like it best, setting his blood on fire. Sherlock feels like crawling out of his skin, intense pleasure of it almost on this side of too much, gathering heat in his groin until one more thrust sets him spiralling out of control, his cock spilling between them. He yells out his pleasure, groans as Mycroft keeps pounding into him, getting lost in his own.

 

“Oh, fuck, I missed you... So gorgeous. So tight, so good, ohh...”

 

No matter how many times he sees it, Sherlock can never get enough of Mycroft's expression when he comes. His enjoyment looks almost like pain, his mouth going slack as he pants for breath, hips thrusting as he spills inside him. Sherlock loves taking it all, up his arse, in his mouth, anywhere on his body; he loves the physical evidence of what he does to Mycroft, how much he wants him.

 

He loves Mycroft's weight on top of him in those blissed moments when hormones surge through his body, take him high.

 

Finally his brother moves away, only slightly though, to reach for the nightstand. Sherlock raises an amused eyebrow, but accepts the cigarette. “This is new,” he comments, feeling decadent smoking in Mycroft's bedroom. His brother will have to work hard to get the smell out – or rather, pay someone else to work hard. Seems like he considers it worth it though.

 

“Post-sex cigarette is traditional, I hear.”

 

“You just want to watch,” Sherlock says, blows smoke towards the ceiling.

 

Mycroft only hums in response, but his eyes betray him. Sherlock smiles.

 

 

+1

 

 

“Five nicotine patches. Really.”

 

Sherlock paces across the living room, throws a scowl in the general direction of the armchair Mycroft is sitting in. This is hard enough without his interference. “You must have somewhere else to be.”

 

“You might as well just smoke.”

 

“Is that an offer?”

 

“Not unless you take off the patches.”

 

“Then forget it.”

 

Mycroft sighs. “There is no need for this. Things can continue as they have been.”

 

“I'm tired of hiding.”

 

“He won't understand.” They've been over this already. Sherlock can read the apprehension on his brother's face and he hates it. Hates it because he feels it too. “You'll blame me when he leaves.”

 

Sherlock stops in his tracks, glares at him. “Never.”

 

“Can you truly promise that?”

 

“Yes, I promise,” Sherlock says. Some of the trepidation dissipates from his brother's expression, but it's back in an instant when they hear John's footsteps in the stairwell. Sherlock closes his eyes, breathes deep, listens to Mycroft getting up, then grasps his arm.

 

“No, stay. It will be easier this way. You are better at people than I am.”

 

“He's your friend. I have never been any good at those.”

 

Sherlock only tightens his grip. “Stay.”

 

“Fine.”

 

John halts at the door, reading their tense expressions. “What's going on? Is everything okay?”

 

Sherlock resumes his pacing. Mycroft clears his throat. “Yes, everything is fine. There's merely something Sherlock would like to tell you.”

 

“Yeah? I mean, of course.”

 

“What are your thoughts on sexual deviance, John?” Sherlock blurts out with his usual tact. Mycroft closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose.

 

John gapes at Sherlock. “Um--”

 

“What my brother is trying to find out is, I believe, whether you object to acts of sexual nature between consenting adults that are... out of the norm.”

 

Sherlock glances at Mycroft, a bit of wry amusement in the corner of his mouth. “I did say you were better at people.”

 

John runs a hand through his hair and huffs a laugh. “Look, Sherlock, if this is your way of telling me you're gay, I kind of figured, and it's okay by me. I thought you would have known that already? Anyway, I don't mind.”

 

“Thank you John,” Sherlock says. “I did know that, though. Now would you mind answering Mycroft's question?”

 

“Er, sure... What did you-- yeah, no, anything between consenting adults, even if it's something weird... it's not really any of my business, right? So of course I don't object.”

 

Sherlock smiles wide, then looks at Mycroft, whose expression is more closed off. “Well, you heard him,” he says, facing his brother.

 

“You are sure about this?”

 

Sherlock huffs and casts his eyes upwards, then looks at his brother heatedly. “Would you stop asking me that?”

 

Mycroft can't help but smile back. “Fine.”

 

Sherlock crosses the floor in two strides and presses his lips softly against Mycroft's, then turns back to look at John. He raises an eyebrow at his friend's wide-eyed expression, and John blinks repeatedly.

 

“Uh... Okay then. Yeah,” he says, rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, alright, that's okay.” He swallows, waves his hand between them vaguely. “As I said, none of my business.”

 

Sherlock beams, and Mycroft's shoulders finally lose some of their tension. “Would you mind if I made some tea?”

 

“Ah yeah, sure, be my guest,” John says, still looking a bit shell-shocked. “I'm just gonna sit down for a bit.”

 

Sherlock laughs, gives his brother another quick kiss and then drops onto the sofa, snatching the newspaper from the table. He'd been distracted for a while – it's good to be able to concentrate on important things again.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, it took me about twenty re-reads to notice I'd actually written 6+1 rather than 5+1. Apparently I really can't math at all nowadays... Or I'm just easily distracted by all the pretty. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!


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